A Touch of the Dark One
by auri mynonys
Summary: Things begin to unravel for Regina when Belle is stolen from the hospital ward. But Regina has plenty of tricks of her sleeve - and Emma's a reluctant hero.
1. And I'm the epicenter to your storm

CHAPTER 1

(And I'm the epicenter of your storm)

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

**(its own sort of beast)**

The curse, Regina is learning, is a being unto itself.

At first she had thought it a slave to her will. It danced when she demanded it, wove itself into the very fibers of a world in which it did not belong – all because she'd asked.

But the spell is its maker's child. And it will never really do for her what she truly wishes it to do.

Like a wayward child, she cannot stop it from straying. But she can punish those it allows to escape its grasp.

And punish them, she does.

Here in this hospital, all cold clean lines and chemical smells, she keeps hidden one of the spell's mistakes – the girl who never forgot. One day, she hopes, the girl will think the things she remembers are part of some kind of madness.

For now, the girl clings to her memories. And Regina, here in the kingdom that her curse has created, will try to draw back all the loosening threads and reweave the spell's unraveling tapestry.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

**(when hell freezes)**

Hell is cold. And Belle is cold inside of hell, all long stretches of blank walls and barely lighted windows.

Hell is nothing. And in hell Belle is nothing, is no one, does not even have a name.

Hell is dark. And in the dark Belle sees what she was once, when she was not imprisoned. In the dark she hears the names and voices of the people that she knew in the land that is called home.

Hell is empty, but for a cot and a blanket and a silent girl who knows what she should not.

There is a slot, and it opens to a place that isn't hell but might as well be. The Face of Evil fills it now and leers, red-lipsticked, kohl-eyed.

"No one's come to see you, I hear," says the Face of Evil, and its voice is oh, so beautiful, like warm chocolate and caramel melting on her tongue.

_Of course no one's come to see me. No one visits hell._

Belle thinks the words, but does not speak. It's never wise to speak to Evil. Evil stores up words like ammunition, shoots twice as fast and ten times more accurately than a human ever could.

"Surely it's clear to you now that no one cares," Evil says. "That you're mad. That no one will ever care."

Belle's eyes open for just a moment, and she turns her head to the door, to the slot where Evil is watching, hungry for something. Belle throws it a scrap out of pity. "No one remembers," she says, as the hinges of her voice shriek with rust and disuse. "No one but me."

Evil tastes the scrap, slowly. The taste is displeasing. The smile is gone. "He remembers," it says, at last.

Belle smiles, just a little, and leans her head against the brick cell of her prison. "Of course he does."

"He hasn't come to find you."

The smile doesn't flicker. "No, he hasn't."

Now Evil is angry. It slams its fist against the metal, once, and Hell echoes with the thud of beaten steel. The door, so sullen, is otherwise silent.

"He'll never come for you," says Evil, growling now. "He's all wrapped up in our new little Sheriff. He wants to give her power. He wants to fight. He's too busy to think of you. How does that make you feel? Your precious monster, out hunting a little blonde?"

The smile remains. Belle closes her eyes and settles against her favorite place in the wall, the place she always goes to when she's tired of talking. "It doesn't matter," she says. "I have his kiss, and I won't give it back."

Evil is thinking of something to say, but all its words are stolen now. The slot to whatever is outside of Hell slams closed, and Belle is alone again.

Hell, as she expected, is still cold.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

**(all that lies between you and your heart is a steel door)**

Sometimes, Mr. Gold speaks to the curse he wove – always in a whisper, lest the Queen hear them speaking. On a good day, the curse talks back.

Mostly it will tremble as Emma passes through. It will curl into itself and cower back, hissing and spitting its hatred for the hero that will bring its doom.

But sometimes – just sometimes – it talks of other things.

And sometimes, when it talks of other things, it tells him of a door.

The door is made of steel and has one window, only one. Gold can never look into the window. The spell will not let him. But it shows him the door, time and time again, and he knows that something important lies behind it.

He wants to believe that the curse is working to help him find that door, to find whatever it is that he's lost. But he knows the curse too well to believe it.

The door hides something special. And the curse is mocking him.


	2. She's the sun slipped through the clouds

CHAPTER 2

_(but she's the sun, slipped through the clouds)_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

**(a precious warmth against my back)**

Emma is a hero.

Oh, she certainly doesn't think so – she would never indulge herself in such petty little fantasies. Fantasies distract from the cold reality of what her life is, what it was, what it will always be.

But Emma is a hero, and will always be a hero.

Only a hero – only a friend – only the truest of the true – would stand beside an adulterer like Emma does.

Only a hero would walk Mary Margaret to school and home again, arm around her shoulders, staring down passer-by who dare to say a word, _one single word_, that might hurt her.

Only a hero would leap up in the dead of night at the sound of shattering glass and jeering calls, and charge straight outside, gun in hand and shouting back.

Only a hero would stay, night after night, with her back pressed to Mary's, without saying a single word.

What words are truly needed? For Mary has Emma's back, Emma's arm, Emma's very reputation shielding her from the weight of the whole world.

Emma is a hero. And Mary wishes she deserved her.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

**(then let us crack apart the locks)**

The hospital staff doesn't want Mary there, of course. Not after her reputation has so thoroughly been ruined. What will it say to patients' families if the staff lets an _adulteress _visit their sick relatives?

But Emma doesn't take _no_ for an answer. And Emma has a fist like Thor's hammer, a mouth made of steel, and eyes that drill holes into skulls.

No one says anything when Emma brings Mary Margaret to visit patients like she used to. But no one looks at Mary, either.

If Emma could punch all their accusing eyes straight back into their heads, she would. But her fist is not a god's hammer, not really, and even a hero can only do so much.

Mary does not speak to the patients. She sits with them and tries to smile for them, a small watery smile that makes Emma's heart hurt.

If Emma could say anything, she would scream, _It's not her fault. She wanted to be honest. She wanted to. It's all him and his lies and his betrayal. Blame him. But leave her alone._

But Emma cannot say those words aloud; and even if she did, it wouldn't help.

She stands with Mary, a silent guardian, and watches as Mary moves from patient to patient, flowers in hand and eyes dark with thoughts she will not share.

They stay hours. Mary is still silent, but her shoulders have relaxed a little, and her jaw isn't clenching quite so tight. She even holds a patient's hand for awhile, and smiles a real smile.

When they go to leave, it's very dark. The hospital is quite still, as if anticipating something. And there is a door open, a door with a keypad and a long, ugly hall.

Regina is walking away from that hall, heels clicking as she walks. And the door is slowly closing.

Something shivers in the air around Emma. And then she's running to the door, pushing it back open, Mary behind her calling her name.

Blood pounds in her ears as she walks slowly down the hall. Incautious, Emma always has been – but never like this. Something is calling her. The air is still around her and the whole world has stopped spinning, waiting. The earth draws in a breath and holds it, and the only sound in the entire universe is Emma's boots hitting like heartbeats on the cold hospital floor.

A nurse rises from her station as Emma walks past. She is shouting something, but Emma is in a daze. Something is calling her. Something. Someone.

Behind her, Mary Margaret is coming, footsteps an echo of Emma's, presence warm against Emma's back. Seven nights and Emma's back still remembers, will never stop remembering.

And somewhere behind Mary, the clack of heels and a chill...

The nurse is saying something to Mary, and Emma is still walking, turning down the twisting hallways that are empty. Is this a labyrinth, then, a labyrinth like Henry's book holds? Is there a minotaur waiting at the center? A goblin king? A grail?

She turns, and there in front of her is a door.

The door is metal and firm, and it speaks her name as though it has been waiting for her all this time.

She steps up to the door, slowly, and opens up the little window.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

**(and from the window, a tremulous ray of sun)**

The window opens, and Belle lifts her eyes.

She expects that Evil has returned to taunt her, just as Evil has been doing day after day now – frantic, it seems, so very frantic.

But it is not evil that greets her. Instead, she beholds the sun.

Oh, Hell has become radiant. Hell is flooded with light, golden, burning, beating at its door. And from the center of the sun, Hope looks out.

Hope is so very, very beautiful.

Belle rises and stumbles forward, hand outstretched. She falls against the metal door – cold, so cold, like Hell always is – and she whispers through the glass:

"I have waited so long for you."


End file.
